Curses, Foiled Again 3: The Princess' Rondo
by nicnac918
Summary: Voldemort might not even go to this school, but he does have a lot of feelings. Feelings of MURDEROUS RAGE!


When Harry walked into the Potions classroom he spotted what was unfortunately a very familiar head of dark hair sitting at his usual table. Groaning, he turned to Ron and Hermione. "You guys go find a table together, I'll go sit over there," he said gesturing toward the empty seat next to Voldemort.

"Oh, that's nice of you Harry; to offer to sit with the new kid," Hermione said, smiling up at him.

"Nah Hermione, don't you recognize him?" asked Ron. "That's the bloke from the Three Broomsticks."

"Oh, you're right Ron. Well, I still don't think you should be spending time with him, Harry, but I suppose sitting with him until he has a chance to make some friends of his own would be the right thing to do," Hermione said in her "supportive" tone.

"I'll be more than happy to leave him alone, just as soon as he stops stalking him," Harry assured his two friends before resignedly walking over and sitting down next to Voldemort.

"Nice to meet you Potter. I'm Tom Riddle, the new transfer student from America," said Voldemort with an evil grin and without a trace of an American accent. Of course, it was Voldemort, so on him the evil grin was really just a normal one.

Harry eyed him suspiciously for a minute, before deciding that Voldemort didn't actually think he had tricked Harry with his total lack of a disguise, he was just being annoying. "Does Hogwarts even accept transfer students?"

"Of course," Voldemort replied condescendingly. "What if I really had moved here from America?"

"I don't see how that's a problem. Couldn't you just Apparate back to your old school at the start of term?" Harry asked.

"Across the Atlantic Ocean?" said Voldemort incredulously. "You're lucky I'm going to kill you before you have to survive in the real world."

Somehow, Harry doubted that.

"But it's the middle of the term and you wouldn't have any records from your old school," he objected.

"You'll find Potter," said Snape, pausing as he swept by their table on the way to the front, "that such concerns can be bypassed if the Headmaster chooses to make a special exception."

"He made a special exception for Voldemort?" Harry asked feeling like he should feel shocked, but not quite managing it.

"That doddering old fool has no idea that it is I, Lord Voldemort!" Voldemort screamed, to a complete lack of reaction from anyone in the room, though Harry was tempted to thump his head against the tabletop a few times. "He thinks that I am merely Tom Riddle, a poor boy who grew-up in an orphanage after my father cruelly abandoned my pregnant mother and my mother died in childbirth, and who only recently moved to Hogsmeade when my mother's sister learned of my plight and took me in."

"But Dumbledore knows that Voldemort and Tom Riddle are the same person!"

"I suggest you just let it go, Potter," Snape said with his customary sneer, though it seemed to have an unusual twinge of sympathy to it this time. Harry, who was well practiced in letting things go at this point, let out an annoyed huff of breath and did.

Then Voldemort lapsed into another of his seriously creepy giggle fits, and Snape, showing a good deal more sense than Harry, continued walking toward the front of the room and the hell away from Voldemort. "You fool, Potter! You have no idea that your precious Professor Snape-"

"I wouldn't call him _precious_…"

"-is actually a spy working for me! And even now as you blindly trust him and do as he bids you, he is working with me to plot your downfall! Isn't that right, Severus?"

"As you command, my Dark Lord," Snape replied with more sarcasm than Harry realized it was physically possible to pack into a sentence, before continuing on with the instructions he had been giving to the class, appearing to be completely oblivious to Voldemort's grandstanding.

That was not to last, however. "Severus!" snapped Voldemort. "I demand that we work in pairs that I might more easily sabotage Potter's potion and bring about his inevitable demise!"

"We do not work with partners in this class. My Dark Master."

"As the Dark Lord Voldemort, I demand you do as I tell you!"

Snape sighed and, with a flick of his wand, altered the directions on the board to reflect Voldemort's insisted upon change. "As you wish, my Dark King."

"I'll go get the ingredients. You just stay here and… don't do anything," Harry said, resigning himself to having to do the potion by himself regardless. Not that he was particularly worried that anything Voldemort tried would kill him, but he might get an acid burn or something if he let the crazed wizard run loose.

Just in case Harry ever made the grave mistake of thinking that his life might possibly get better, when he returned from the store cupboard, Malfoy was leaning up against their table and talking to Voldemort.

"Milfy, Milfy, Milfy," Voldemort was saying, shaking his head.

"It's Malfoy," Malfoy corrected. Harry very nearly mentally wished Malfoy luck with that one, before remembering that he didn't care and applying himself to chopping up the dandelion roots instead.

"I know all about you little rivalry with Potter, and even gave him my blessing regarding it. But understand that I, Lor- Tom Riddle shall be the one to ultimately kill him."

"I'd like to see you try," Malfoy responded disdainfully. Voldemort, ever obliging when being so might also inconvenience Harry in some way, picked up his potions knife and jabbed it at Harry's stomach. Harry, not looking up from what he was doing, grabbed Voldemort's wrist and twisted his arm around until, howling with pain, he dropped the knife.

"Curses! Now look at what you've done, Potter. I'm going to have to clean that before I can use it again."

"It's your fault," Harry retorted. "That's the twelfth time you've tried that; you should know what's going to happen by now." Voldemort glared at him, but didn't actually offer up any argument.

"Pretty impressive," Malfoy said, sounding as though he was genuinely impressed. "But I can do better. Av-" Harry responded automatically. He grabbed Malfoy's wrist and twisted his arm around until, whimpering with pain, he dropped his wand.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter," Snape called from across the room. Voldemort gave Harry a smug grin, having apparently failed to notice that Harry hadn't lost any points for doing the same thing to Voldemort a minute earlier.

"Also impressive," Voldemort said to Malfoy. "In fact, for that I'll let you in on a secret young Drago."

"It's Draco. Dra-co Mal-foy."

"You see, I'm not actually Tom Riddle, innocent transfer student from America, but in fact the Dark Lord Voldemort!" Malfoy went wide-eyed with shock. Harry resisted the urge to facepalm. "And while Severus already holds the position on my right-hand man here in the school, I'd be willing to let you take the place of third in command."

"Would I get to take the Dark Mark?" Malfoy asked excitedly.

"No."

"Oh. Well, could I draw one on my arm myself?"

"Knock yourself out," Voldemort said. "Now, go away until I have further need of you!" Thankfully, Malfoy complied.

After Malfoy left, Voldemort looked at the potion and smiled evilly. "If you excuse me Potter, I'm just going to go… clean this knife," Voldemort said, picking the discarded tool up off the ground. Harry hoped that, whatever Voldemort was actually doing, the knife got cleaned too – Harry's still had bits of dandelion root stuck on it.

Given a few moments of peace, Harry was able to check the progress of his potion, comparing it both to the instruction on the board and Hermione and Ron's potion. Harry had just decided that he was right on track when Snape swept by. "Abysmal, Potter. I wouldn't be surprised if you decided to add feverfew and blow this whole room up." Before Harry could protest that his potion was the exact teal color and thin consistency it was supposed to be, Snape had walked off again.

Harry was puzzling over that – usually if Snape couldn't, with at least some accuracy, say anything mean, he just didn't say anything at all – when Voldemort came back with a bundle of feverfew in hand. Ah, well that would explain it. "I brought something to make our potion better," Voldemort announced, placing the plant down on the cutting board.

"Snape _just_ insulted me by implying that I would be stupid enough to add feverfew to this potion and make it blow up," Harry told him.

"Curses! Severus, you have to be more cautious about what you say to Potter; you just inadvertently tipped him off to my plan," Voldemort called across the room.

"I hear and obey, O Supreme Dark Overlord," Snape responded, not looking over from where he was giving Dean and Seamus a thorough tongue-lashing for the hot pink mess they had concocted.

"As for you, Potter," Voldemort said, rounding on him. "You may have thwarted me these past nine hundred and fifty-two tries, but rest assured I shall see you to an early grave!"

"Yeah Potter, better watch your back!" Malfoy chimed in.

"Be quiet, Sally-Anne!" snapped Voldemort.

"Um, _actually_," Hermione interjected, "his name is Draco Malfoy. Sally-Anne Perks is in a different class."

"You dare correct me, filthy Mudblood? You shall be the first to go, after I eliminate Potter. In fact, I think I shall kill him now, so I can take care of you that much sooner!" With that, Voldemort picked up the knife that he had _not_ ended up cleaning, and lunged at Harry. Harry, once again, grabbed Voldemort's wrist and twisted his arm around until Voldemort howled with pain and dropped the knife.

"Curses!"

* * *

Sequel is "Curses, Foiled Again 4: Three-Five-Eight Days Over Two" (Story ID: 8680769).


End file.
